


Carolina Rose

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, F/F, Femslash, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: The Ladies Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-21
Updated: 2008-01-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: In danger of Ministry punishment, Ginny must relay every last detail of her relationship with Hermione Granger to her appointed representation, all the while oblivious to the fact that her betrothed's sentence has already been set in stone.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

“ _He who has faith has... an inward reservoir of courage, hope, confidence, calmness, and assuring trust that all will come out well - even though to the world it may appear to come out most badly.”_ \- B.C. Forbes 

 

**Prologue**

 

“Hello, Ginevra. My name is Joann Elkins. I'll be handling your case from here.”

The woman didn't extend her hand over the table in greeting like the other officials had. Ginny was grateful for this. She'd had enough formalities in the past twenty-four hours to last her a lifetime. 

“Are you another doctor?” she asked in a flat voice.

Joann looked up from her open pocketbook and smiled, her eyebrow arching slightly as she did so. She was pretty enough, Ginny thought, with her straight black hair and dark green eyes. She couldn't be much more than six years her senior. Far too young, in Ginny's opinion, to be stuck in a place like this. 

“No. I've been sent by the Ministry to represent you at your trial.”

“I won't be requiring your services, then. I've requested that I represent myself for the duration,” Ginny said in a tone that would indicate a professor correcting her student.

Joann's grin seemed to widen for a split second before she clicked her tongue. “I'm afraid that won't be possible. Your parents hold the rights to the legal course of action that will be taken in your case.”

“But I'm seventeen!” Ginny protested, sitting up straighter in the uncomfortable metal chair that had been supplied for her.

“Yes. And three St. Mungo's healers and two Ministry officials have declared you both mentally and emotionally unstable. Until that diagnosis is revoked or you are officially declared cured through treatment, you will have to settle for what is given to you.”

Ginny sat back, stone-faced with shock, and watched as her solicitor retrieved a Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment from her charmed purse before snapping it shut. Joann set the sleek black quill upon the parchment, where it seemed to hover, awaiting her further instruction. “Ms. Weasley, for your sake, I hope that you will cooperate with me today. The interview I'm about to conduct will be used in your defense. Please keep your answers as brief and direct as possible.”

“I want to see my fiancée.”

Joanna paused, her mouth half-open in preparation to speak. She tilted her head, seeming to rest it on her shoulder for a moment in thought. “Ms. Granger won't be available for the next several hours, I'm afraid. Even so, I couldn't arrange for you two to meet until after your joint hearing, even if I wanted to.”

“Then I at least want my ring back.”

Joann straightened up again, sucking on the insides of her cheeks. She surveyed Ginny with her eyes; her stare was intense and calculating. “This is your last chance. A year in St. Mungo's for psychiatric treatment. It's the best deal you're going to get. Are you sure you want to refuse it?”

Ginny had to fight to keep herself from smirking. She didn't even hesitate before giving her response. “Absolutely.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

  


“Oh!”

Hermione quickly recoiled, startled by Ginny's sudden cry. “Sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?” 

Ginny shook her head, her dark eyes glazed as she looked down the length of her body at Hermione. “No, no, no. It was...” She paused, pushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair off of her forehead. “Do that again.”

Lowering herself onto her elbows once again, Hermione proceeded cautiously, keeping a watchful eye on Ginny's expression as she gently resumed sucking and – ever so carefully – nibbling on the most sensitive part of Ginny's anatomy. As she did this, she continued to probe elsewhere with her fingers, Ginny's soft moans of encouragement when she slipped in one more than before sending chills of content pleasure down her own spine.

As disgustingly sinful as it was, Hermione loved the feel Ginny's skin under her fingertips, her smell, her taste. It was the first time they'd done anything of the sort, but she'd never felt anything so wonderful. Of course, it wasn't as if she had much to compare to, like Ginny. Viktor's touches had always been gentle and as respectful as possible in that sort of situation – only scarcely venturing under her clothes. And Ron... Well, they hadn't exactly gone there yet. He would, she knew, if only she'd let him. Merlin, how she'd been trying. But it just didn't seem _right_ between them. Not yet, at least.

Hermione knew, for a fact, that Ginny was doing things with Harry. Neither of them had admitted it, of course, but they would be fools to believe that nobody knew but them. Hermione could hear them sometimes. She'd lay in bed at night, trying to ignore the soft grunts and moans from the room next-door. 

It wasn't the fact that they were intimate that troubled Hermione. Quite honestly, it was a shock that they weren't holed up together sixteen hours out of the day. After all, if there was any couple that deserved it, they did. No... What troubled her was that as she lay there in the dark – Ron sleeping just a matter of inches from her – she could almost feel herself becoming _aroused_ by it.

Oh, she could have casted a silencing charm and forgotten about it. Sometimes, she wished she would have. But she almost felt as if it were her right to listen in. After all, if they were concerned about being heard, wouldn't they have taken those precautions themselves? Perhaps Hermione even saw it as some sort of experiment for a while. Surely hearing everything going on in there would boost her own libido!

Well, sure enough, it did. What she _hadn't_ expected, however, was that it wouldn't boost her desire for Ron as planned...

Ginny gasped sharply as her muscles contracted with surprising force around Hermione's fingers, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at Ginny. Her eyebrows were pinched tightly together as if she were in pain, her lips were swollen and crimson as she panted in labored breaths, her hands twisted into the pure white bedsheets on either side of her.

“Oh, my God,” Ginny breathed, her back seeming to relax into the mattress for the first time since she'd lain down on it. 

Hermione felt her own cheeks flush with... What, exactly? Embarrassment, maybe, that she wasn't quite sure what her own reaction should be or what she should do next. But looking around her at the room that Harry and Ginny shared, she knew exactly what had just clicked in her mind.

A hand, warm and soft, encompassed her own. Ginny gently tugged her within reach, bringing their lips together once more. Hermione didn't protest, though her mind suddenly felt as if it were on fire, with several areas of her brain that surely weren't meant to be activated all at once screaming at her, protesting all that had gone on in the course of that morning. 

And yet, Ginny's kisses were so sweet, so gentle. Even so, they stirred such strong feelings in Hermione – feelings she had never believed herself capable of. 'Lust' was far from it, for lust blinds you, it makes you weaker. 'Love' wasn't appropriate either, for it numbs you to every emotion except the one for which it is named.

No, when Ginny kissed her, she felt something completely different, a euphoric mix of every emotion imaginable. Who she was, what she had accomplished, what she _wanted_ to accomplish... None of it seemed to matter. It was only Ginny there in those moments that seemed to last a lifetime but always ended far too soon.

At last, Ginny pulled back just enough to allow herself to speak. “Let me do you now.”

Oh, how Hermione ached at that command. _Yes_ , she wanted to say, _touch me here and there and, oh God, there, too._ If her own timid explorations had evoked such strong reactions in Ginny, she could only imagine how it would feel once their roles were reversed.

_Don't do it_. _You've already mucked things up enough. Just go clean yourself up and pretend this never happened._

But in those few precious seconds, Ginny seemed to have gaged Hermione's answer for herself. Nodding to nobody in particular, she carefully untangled herself from underneath Hermione. The very air seemed to become thick with perturbation as the women began to dress in silence.

Hermione made sure to take as much time as possible, near tears with chagrin. She was certain that she had never felt so terrible in her life. Ginny seemed as determined as she was not to share a single glance, though for a very different reason. Hermione couldn't blame her. After all, she would be angry, too, at such a blatant rejection.

“Ginny, I-” she began hoarsely, but Ginny didn't seem to want to hear it.

“It's beautiful outside. Maybe you should take a stroll, you know, get some fresh air. It might be good for you.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Hermione to succumb completely to her emotions.

**0000**

“That's all that happened the first day?” Joann asked, tapping her long nails on the table. Ginny had a suspicion it was more to calm her own nerves than to irritate her client.

“Oh, it wasn't explicit enough for you? Would you like more detail?” Ginny asked, smiling with mock sweetness.

Joann gave a kind of disgusted sigh, drawing back slightly as if she were completely repulsed by the suggestion. “In her testimony, Ms. Granger repeatedly recalls feeling as though her state of mind was altered that day.”

Ginny's smile faltered. Joann, it seemed, didn't miss this.

“Do you know anything about this?” she asked slowly.

“If that's true, she didn't say a thing to me about it,” Ginny retorted indignantly.

Joann went silent for a moment. She looked down at her Quick-Quotes Quill as if checking to see if it was still working properly. Ginny, however, knew better.

“If you're trying to trick me into falsely incriminating myself, it's not going to work. Look, some of your buffoons had been in before that, and several times after. They checked everybody and everything in our flat to find out exactly what incantations were active.”

“I know that,” Joann said, still watching the quill as it scribbled away.

“Then why did you ask me?” Ginny demanded. She could feel her cheeks growing hot as what could most be construed as anger settled in her belly.

Joann, however, remained quite calm as she spoke in her cool tones. “Because that's what I've been hired to do: ask questions that we both already know the answers to.”

Ginny attempted to swallow the dry lump in her throat. She suddenly considered Joanna very lucky that her wand had been taken when she'd arrived at the Ministry. It was a shame that she'd never attempted wand-less magic...


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

The week stretched on into eternity as Hermione became more and more anxious by the second. Ginny was still her normal self, she still made her normal jokes and would willingly engage in long and meaningful conversations with anybody who seemed to have an interest. However, Hermione didn't fail to see the few changes that _had_ taken place. She didn't miss the sideways glances that Ginny gave her when she thought nobody was paying attention, her insistence on helping Hermione clear the table after dinner or fold the laundry – both things Ginny was known to adamantly despise – or even something as simple as leaning over Hermione to grab a book from the coffee table, allowing her breasts to conveniently brush up against Hermione's arm for the slightest second.

It did not help that Ron had taken double shift at the Aurors' department nearly every day. “I can't have them thinking that I can't pull my weight,” he'd insist when Hermione protested. It was barely a year into his and Harry's training, so it wasn't as if it were the wisest decision ever made. But she supposed that the three of them had had a bit more experience than the average wizard, and at this thought, decided to drop the subject.

It would not be until late that Thursday night that Ginny would speak to her for the first time in nearly ten days. It was a simple enough conversation: a congratulation on her acceptance into the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. “Isn't Ron planning anything? I mean, that sort of achievement doesn't just fall into your lap every day,” she said.

Hermione shrugged. “No, not that I know of. I was lucky enough to get a 'That's great!' out of him.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, her fingers stilling in their track around the rim of her drinking glass.

Hermione made a small gesture as if to dismiss Ginny's obvious surprise. “It's fine, really. He's as wrapped up at the Ministry at the moment as I am. His hands are pretty much tied up with his Auror work – as they should be.”

“Oh,” Ginny said again, though there was a certain perk in her voice that hadn't been there before. 

**0000**

Needless to say, Hermione's quality of sleep improved by tenfold that week; No Ron to hog the covers or try to snuggle up to her when all she wanted was a good night's rest, no sensual sound effects drifting through the walls of their flat. Come Saturday, Hermione would find that there was nothing she longed for more than another one of these peaceful rests.

Lisa Turpin was one of the nicest women you could ever have the good fortune to meet. She had never broken a promise in her life: if she said that she would help you with your spring cleaning, you could bet every Knut you had that she would show up no later than the minute you expected her. She was the kind of person who would stop to help someone in need, no matter the cost or the time it would take. If you were going through a rough patch with your significant other or had simply just had a heated fight with your best friend, she would be there – comfort food in tow, of course.

While all of this may very well have made her out to be a saint, there was one thing about her that, at times, could make her absolutely unbearable: Lisa was a well-known perfectionist. As Hermione would learn in the course of those fourteen hours, this did not make her a necessarily pleasant presence to have while wrapping up plans for a wedding, especially her own.

“George, please pick one already! We don't have all day!”

“I thought _you_ were picking the flowers.”

“I _did_! What do you think these are? You're just the tie-breaker!”

“Story of my life.”

George surveyed the two bouquets laid out on the kitchen table before him, his arms crossed nonchalantly over his chest. “Well, those are pretty,” he said, gesturing with a nod towards the bundle of white lilies.

“Oh, you think so?” Lisa asked, twirling the plain gold chain around her neck absentmindedly as she looked back and forth between the choices.

George nodded. “The lilies, Lisa.” He picked up the yellow flowers and gave them to Hermione, who turned to deliver the final choice to Mrs. Weasley, but it seemed that Lisa had decided otherwise. She grabbed Hermione by the back of her blouse, halting her, and thrust the alternative choice into her arms as well.

“Use both,” she instructed.

“Well, how-” Hermione began, but Lisa had already rushed ahead of her into the garden, no doubt to fuss over some other detail that wasn't exactly as she wanted it.

“Tough, that one. She's making me more and more nervous by the second.”

Hermione turned to face George, who did indeed look more than distraught. “Look, there's no reason for you to be here. You should go and find Ron and Harry, pay a visit to the Leaky Cauldron or something.”

The corner of George's mouth curved upward into a tired half-smile. “That's one I never thought I'd hear from you. Ginny, maybe...”

Hermione's heart gave such a flutter at his sister's name that she instinctively put a hand to her chest as if to keep it from leaping straight out of the bone cage that held it hostage. It was a lucky thing that George didn't catch this. Though his gaze was following his betrothed as she scurried about the garden, Hermione had no doubt as to who was actually on his mind.

Gently, she moved her hand to his shoulder, giving it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “Chin up, George. Your family is depending on you tomorrow.”

“You think Fred would have liked her?”

Unexpected tears stung at the back of Hermione's eyes, forcing her to look away for the briefest moment. She couldn't remember George ever speaking his twin's name for a year and a half. “Fred would have loved her,” she whispered. Despite her efforts, she couldn't hide the faint tremor that had entered her voice. 

“'Smart match', I reckon he'd say.” George put his head down, quickly wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Hermione felt a familiar twang of empathy for him at the sight. She knew that no matter how many years went by or experiences he had, George would never truly get over the loss of his brother – his best friend for the first nineteen years of his life.

She pulled him into as tight of a one-armed hug as she could, the other arm still cradling the flowers awkwardly. “You two were meant to meet when you did.” She didn't question it, even as the words seemed to spill from her lips without her initiation.

“You've been like a sister to us, Hermione. Ron is lucky to have you.” With a quick peck on the cheek, George gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “You really should get those flowers out to Mum. You'll have hell from Lisa if they get ruined.”

**0000**

By lunchtime, it was apparent that George was not the only one feeling less than celebratory. Hermione spotted Mrs. Weasley in a secluded corner of the orchard, her shoulders heaving though she made no sound, her husband standing beside her with his arms wrapped around her in an attempt to console her. Bill would suddenly stop whatever he was doing and disappear, returning sometimes half an hour later, his face considerably more flushed than normal. Charlie didn't say a word to anyone all morning, while Percy kept to himself altogether, barely even making eye contact with you if he could avoid it.

Even with all of this at the forefront of Hermione's mind, it was still Ginny whom she worried the most about, for the only person in that house who went the entire day without a single indication of an individual in mourning. In fact, when her mother was in silent hysterics and her eldest sibling simply refused to have any human contact at all, she was acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, light-heartedly teasing her brothers and humming to herself as she arranged the banquet tables where they would dine exactly as they had been more than two years ago.

When she'd mentioned this to Ron during their short break for lunch, he'd just shrugged it off. “That's just the way she is,” he explained through his mouthful of chicken sandwich. Even though they were no longer schoolchildren, his appetite was still more than sufficient enough to satisfy Hermione's own just by watching him.

“But it's still not very healthy, is it? If she really is trying to keep her composure for everyone else, it's not going to last very long. It'll be ten times worse when it does come out,” Hermione predicted, observing Ginny from a distance as she spoke animatedly to Harry, Bill, Fleur, and her parents, who were sitting on a shaded stretch of grass while they ate. She made dramatic sweeping motions with her hands as she continued, as if she were telling a very long and involved story.

“Well, let's hope it can wait until tomorrow. I don't think I can handle one more person in hysterics at the moment.”

Hermione looked back at Ron, knowing at once just what he meant. He hadn't really allowed himself to grieve Fred's death yet. Last year, when they had still been at Hogwarts assisting in the efforts to repair the massive amount of damage done to the school, she had tried to get him to talk about it. “What good is it going to do talking about it?” he'd said, “It's over now.”

“I should be asking _you_ how you're feeling,” Ron said, stopping Hermione before she could begin to re-hash every conversation they'd had on the subject.

“I'm fine,” Hermione said simply, finally picking up her own sandwich. 

At this, Ron shook his head in an almost disapproving manner. “What are you on about?”

Hermione stopped mid-bite, the bread in her mouth going soggy and leaving a sour taste on her tongue. She didn't have to inquire as to what Ron meant, for he seemingly found it appropriate to inform her of his own accord.

“You barely speak to anyone, and when you do you can hardly carry on a conversation. And lately, you spend nearly as much time as I do at the Ministry-”

“Who says there's anything wrong with that? You think my job is any easier than yours?” The bitter sensation in Hermione's mouth seemed to wrap itself around her words as they left her lips, making the air around her suddenly heavy.

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Ron said quietly. “It's just that you've been-”

“Please don't spoil tomorrow, Ron, whatever you do. It's going to be difficult enough as it is. And you had better treat your sister nicely if she comes to you,” Hermione spat with an air of utter finality. 

As she rose to go inside, she cast a fleeting glance in the other group's direction. Ginny was studying her with a sort of bearing expression, one eyebrow arched slightly as if in discernment. Upon the realization that Hermione had spotted her, she quickly turned her attention back to Charlie, whom everyone else was seemingly now listening intently to.

Hermione had never in her life been so grateful to be ignored.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

 

Ginny swallowed, hard, as she tried her darnedest to hide the sudden dampness of her eyes as her brother held her fast to him. She closed her eyes, trying to dissolve everything else around her: the bleak cells that composed of their surroundings, the damp, moldy scent that filled the air, the guards that paced the narrow corridor, slowing down each time one of them passed the over-sized cage that she was being held in to observe the activity inside before announcing how much of the five minutes they'd been given to spend together was left. 

“Four!” had just been barked at them when they finally broke apart. As Ron surveyed her, she was sure that he was not seeing the sweet, glowing girl that he used to call his little sister.

“Just say you'll do it,” Ginny pleaded quietly. “Say you'll testify for me. You put me in here, now get me out.”

Ron blinked very slowly, as if he was a foreigner trying to discern her English. “You're not well, Ginny,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and catchy. Ginny sank down onto the bare mattress the Ministry had the nerve to call a suitable bed.

She heard, rather than saw, Ron shift uncomfortably on his feet. “I've been to see Hermione today.”

Ginny's hands trembled against her skin as she dropped her head into them due to what could only be a combination of exhaustion, frustration and extreme hopelessness. “And?”

“They aren't going to interrogate her like they are you. She's not even going to speak at the hearing.”

“Good,” Ginny said. She didn't have the heart to ask why or even to challenge the truth of this statement – though, admittedly, it did seem outlandish for her not to. But it wasn't as if she was exactly feeling like herself. “How is she?” she asked in a tiny voice, still staring into her palms.

“Two!”

Ron shifted again as the guard's voice reverberated off of the cold walls. “She's faring a right sight better than you, if that's what you mean.” He paused for a moment. Ginny could feel his eyes on her, still as judgmental as ever. “She wanted me to tell you...”

“Don't.” Ginny sat up, not caring that Ron would now see the hot tears spilling down her cheeks and soaking into her once beautiful hair, dirty and snarled from nearly three days of being kept in dim and dust-laden holding rooms for hours on end. “Just don't. If she has something to say, it can wait until this is all over.”

Ron gave a sharp sigh, running a hand through his own identically red locks. “Yeah. Alright, Ginny.”

**0000**

“America?”

Ginny worried at her lower lip as she gave a slow nod. Hermione sighed, leaning back against her dressing table. “I don't know, Ginny. I mean... Are you sure Harry won't go with you?”

“I'm not supposed to be bringing anybody with me at all, really. They'd think that he was helping me to cheat or something.”

Hermione wrinkled her brow. “I thought cheating at Quidditch is nearly impossible.”

Ginny smiled at this, though her eyes still remained focused anywhere but at her. “It is. But it's supposed to be fair game. I'd be disqualified on the spot if I even considered taking him with me – I mean, with his Quidditch experience and that.”

Hermione was silent for a moment as she considered her friend. This was, after all, Ginny's big chance. How many people only dreamed of playing Chaser for the Montrose Magpies? It certainly was an extraordinary opportunity – and with a first match overseas, nonetheless!

Still, it wasn't as if that didn't pose problems for Hermione. She _had_ just started in her new position at the Ministry, and it wouldn't look very good if she just took off for an unspecified amount of time without warning. She posed this question to Ginny, who gave a shrug in response.

“You _could_ say that you're taking off for research. Say you're looking into the ethical treatment of magical creatures in foreign countries,” she suggested.

Hermione looked back at Ginny, starting slightly upon finding her finally returning eye contact. The look she found there sent a shiver down her spine. Her eyes were fierce and intent, mirroring the endless determination Hermione knew Ginny so well for. Yet, something was very different about them: they were darker somehow, more guarded and calculating.

“I'll have to think about it,” she said finally, slowly enunciating each word as if she were speaking in a language completely foreign to her. “When do you leave again?”

“Tomorrow evening. I would have told you earlier, if I'd have known myself.” Ginny stood, but instead of turning to leave as Hermione had anticipated, she came closer. She took both of Hermione's hands in her own, as if to congratulate her on some great achievement. Hermione suddenly felt that she might as well be standing there naked with the way Ginny was looking her over.

“You look really beautiful,” Ginny said quietly. Hermione was almost startled by the sincerity in her voice. It made her nervous, and yet she felt strangely elated at the fact that Ginny genuinely thought this of her. It was like winning a much coveted award.

Just as her lips started to form the words ‘Thank you’, Ginny leaned up and enveloped them with her own in what proved to be a brief, yet definitely strong kiss, freezing Hermione on the spot. She didn't quite know how she should react to this, for it was the first real advance Ginny had made since their encounter nearly two weeks ago, however astute a gesture it may have been.

With a final squeeze of her hands, Ginny started towards the door. Hermione had already turned her back by the time Ginny unexpectedly spoke again. “You wouldn't mind if I told everyone else at dinner today, would you? I'll wait until you decide, if you'd like.”

Hermione shook her head, more to clear her own thoughts than to answer Ginny's question. “Um... no, go ahead.”

There was the sound of the bedroom door shutting behind her before the only noise that could be heard was the distant talking and occasional laughter from the kitchen where Ron and Harry were inevitably entertaining themselves over their breakfast. Hermione examined herself in the mirror that hung above her dressing table. She had _thought_ she looked pretty decent ten minutes ago. Now, she looked at the emerald green gown that she had planned on wearing for weeks and wondered what she had been thinking. It didn't look right at all – it was far too extravagant for somebody as plain as herself.

Hastily pulling the pins out of her hair and tugging the halter fastening around her neck loose, she threw open her wardrobe. She had an entirely new outfit to put together, and she had less than an hour to do it. Already, she had the nagging feeling that this was not going to be just any ordinary wedding.


End file.
